


Piano, Play my Song

by Espileon707



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Character Death, Finished it too late, Gen, Grief, Made for the Angst war, Music, Piano, Repressed Grief resurfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Espileon707/pseuds/Espileon707
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There has always been a Piano. It was the one constant in Carolina's life. Now it was the only thing keeping her here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano, Play my Song

There were always pianos in her life. Those large, black, wooden boxes were a constant in her life when nothing else was. There had been two pianos in her childhood home. One was an heirloom, old and decrepit, her mother kept it because she had learned to play on its worn keys when she was small. The other… Her Fa- The Director thought he was being classy. His piano was newer, a glistening black, Baby Grand Piano that was always out of tune. 

When she was small, and still learning to speak clearly, Carolina learned to play the piano on her Father’s disgusting instrument. She never liked the sound of it, it was too sharp. It screeched like a cat in pain when she tried to play simple songs like, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, or Mary had a Little Lamb. But her Fa- The Director loved it. He thought she was the next big thing in the music scene, Carolina simply did not care.

She soon switched from her Fath- The Director’s piano, to her mother’s. It was less imposing and stark. The wood of the frame was worn, a golden brown that glistened in the sunlight, and the keys were dull and yellowed from use. Unlike the stark and imposing lines of the other piano, this one was softer, more inviting and the sound was homey and comforting. Once her mother had convinced her Fath- The Director, that Carolina could play on her piano, well, Carolina never skipped a day of practice. 

She got her competitive spirit from her mother, who challenged her to play harder and harder songs every time Carolina learned a new trick. Carolina, loved it. These little contests to show how good she could be were just as fun as the races and games she won on the playground. Carolina and her mother had a game they would play when she was small and still learning how to move her stubby fingers over the keys. Her mother would call out numbers and Carolina would have to use that many fingers to play notes. It always went the same, 2, 4, 1, 10. It was always those numbers. But it helped Carolina learn, and soon it became a warmup that was performed before every practice. A loving ritual from Mother to daughter. And Carolina wanted to give back, so when Carolina turned 13 she decided to surprise her mother with a hand written song.

Her mother never got to hear it. No one but Carolina ever heard the finished piece. And though her Mother’s piano was gifted to her, after Alison’s death, Carolina could not bring herself to touch a piano again. She thought about it when York died, but she never did. When The Director died, she thought about the sharp keys and stark lines of his instrument and how they resembled his life. Regimented, clean, and strong as steel, but still there was a cry for help under it all. The sharp trill of a man who lost so much and refused to see that he was hurting everyone around him. And now, she stood at the end of a war, and playing piano seemed all too right. 

 

Carolina was lost. Not physically, but mentally, emotionally, she was lost. She sat before a Black Grand Piano, her helmet and gauntlets discarded in the fires. She didn’t need them anymore, or, not right now. Right now she needed to feel the keys. To hear the broken, shrieking tones of the piano with her own ears, not the audio feed of her helmet. It had been so long since she last played, she feared she would not remember how to play. But the keys felt natural under her calloused hands, and she could feel happier days just at the back of her memory as she began to test the keys. As she expected, the keys were shrill and sharp like the Direct-… Like the other piano back home. But that was what she needed, she needed sharp and shrill, not gentle and homey. 

“Carolina?” 

“Wash.” Carolina did not look up from the piano, her hands slowly worked their way over the keys, testing each note to see if she remembered.

“You should be wearing your helmet.” 

“So should you Wash.” 

“Carolina? I…”

“Don’t say it. It won’t help and you know it.” Carolina could hear Wash shuffle behind her over the roar of the flames. He drew closer, until he was standing right next to her. 

“You play?” She could hear desperation in his voice, like he was trying to bury the loss under distractions. It was a bit pathetic.

But wasn’t that exactly what she was doing? Distracting herself?

“I used to.” Carolina tested the final key, and a little voice, a distant memory began to well up. 

2

“I didn’t- I can’t… I can’t go back.” Wash hissed as Carolina pressed down two keys.

4

“I don’t think anyone wants to.” Carolina said, her voice even and distant as she pressed down four keys.

1

There was silence as Carolina pressed down a single key.

10

“But we have to. For them.” Carolina slammed her hands down, ten keys echoing over the creaking metal and hissing fires. 

There was a moment, where the world stilled and Carolina heard nothing. The notes echoed in an empty room and as they faded she could hear bird song from a long lost spring day. The dark of the wreckage began to brighten as sunlight streamed through rows of open windows. Twisted metal floors were replaced with warm hardwood and the world began to melt back in time. 

She was thirteen again, sitting in her home at… At her Dad’s piano. Her armor was gone, replaced with clothes she thought she would never see again, civilian clothes. Carolina looked up from the piano to see Wash ten years younger. There were no dark circle under his eyes, and she could see the joy and naiveté lost during Project Freelancer return to his eyes. 

Wash placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded quietly to the piano. Carolina breathed deeply, the smoke and ash was lost, and instead she smelled freshly cut grass and floor cleaner. With tears forming in her eyes, Carolina gently laid her hands back over the keys and began to play.

We’ve been here so long. Still I remember the rainy September, Contact.

As she played, Carolina could hear voices, familiar and warm as figures she knew and loved began to form before her. They sat at an old dining room table, sheets of music and empty pages ready for crayons stretched before them. 

“Gentlemen, looks like this is it.” 

“Sir, it’s been an honor.” 

“Smartest thing you’ve ever said.”

Simmons, Grif and Sarge sat at the far end of the table. Simmons looked over and smiled to her as the keys hit their sharp and shrill notes. Grif nudged Simmons, trying to grab a few paper that Simmons was guarding.

“Now that’s a good look for you!” 

“Aw! That’s so sweet! Now, let us strike fear into the hearts of our enemies!” 

Donut and Doc were sitting across from Simmons and Grif, the two of them were happy to look over papers together, though they too turned to face Carolina as she played. 

“Yeah! Let’s get ‘em!” 

Caboose was sprawled over the table, his large hands gripping a crayon as he drew a picture on one of the blank pages. He stopped in his work as Donut poked him, and noticed Carolina playing. Then Tucker, Tucker sat silent and firm next to Caboose, his eyes trained on Wash and Carolina. Carolina continued to play, the song only she knew echoing out over the space as Wash walked to the table to join their family. 

As the final chorus began to play, Carolina could feel her voice growing faint and weak, she was slipping out, and she wanted to walk to the table to join the Reds and Blues. 

Then she felt a familiar touch on her back, and suddenly she wasn’t thirteen or thirty six. She was five again, her fingers stubby and new. Her mother stood behind her, silently urging her to finish the song.

It was meant to be heard, just like you.

Then her Dad joined behind her, his form imposing as ever, but softer than she remembered.

You are something else Carolina. You will go so far.

And as the final notes fell out of the keys Carolina felt herself age. She was fully grown, she had seen war and loss. She looked back to the table to find everyone she loved waiting for her. York, North, Maine, Caboose, Sarge, Wash, Donut, Grif, Simmons, everyone was there. And Tucker, who had sat still and stoically the entire song smile a sure and cocky smile. His sword sat beside him, sheathed and dead. Tucker beckoned Carolina over, gesturing to a cushioned arm chair between him and York. 

Carolina rose from the piano, the fires and smoke a distant memory as she walked in the sun towards her friends and family. As she sat down Tucker smiled wider, his lip spreading open as he spoke one last time to her.

“See you on the other side.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to make something for the Angst war. But since there was no prompt for this other than my own mind and the song Contact Redux, and the urge to write came a bit too late I never got to enter. Oh well! Here's an angst piece I wrote, I haven't done angst much before but I'm proud of this one! Enjoy! I did quote Contact Redux, so there's that.


End file.
